Purposeful Avoidance

For those who might want to say, “Enough already, we get it. You’ve been bullied. We got it. You are one of the lucky ones. You lived.” I’d remind you of the ‘Tattoo’ poem from my second book, pain can be numbed, but it never goes away… The bully’s words created an immediate sense of nausea. I didn’t throw up or puke. It was a different mechanism of action. There seemed to be a connection, a buzzing, between my head and my gut. My brain was unable to differentiate between heartburn, or indigestion, or just being suddenly nauseated. I felt heat, everywhere; down my spine, in my face, maybe even in my gonads – like from a quick injection of intravenous dexamethasone. What was I, eleven or twelve? I had been made to feel sub-human, years before, so this wasn’t particularly growth-stunting, but it triggered an out of body experience, like looking at myself in a hospital bed, or coffin. I didn’t know GERD yet and could not have determined cause and effect yet, or the cascade of events pummeling my gastrointestinal tract. But it was most unpleasant – I wanted it to stop. I wanted to run away, but I couldn’t. That would have brought the wrong kind of attention to my situation. Should I have prayed? I guess it was anxiety or a sense of panic, yet everything at once, all these feelings; it was paralyzing. Should there have been drugs at the ready? Do teachers have kits, for kids with special needs, to diffuse or eliminate a situation? I sensed I had a fever; my brain was on fire. My stomach churned. An overwhelming advance of fear and pity was all consuming. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want it. Where could I run? Where could I hide? Getting inside of myself, to internalize my plight, became my mechanism for security and comfort. It wasn’t a panic attack where medication was warranted, to calm down my electrical system, but thinking back, maybe it would have been helpful to swallow something, or to have something injected, like in the movies. Although I describe co-morbid, overlapping physical symptoms, this seemed to be ‘all in my head’. My brain felt so challenged that I couldn’t respond in real time; as noted – paralyzed. Was I diaphoretic? Erythemic? If anyone had noticed or was aware of what was just said to me, could they see my reactions? Would an observer side with me, or laugh along with the bully, like in those little vignettes on Facebook or TikTok? Peer pressure be damned – I had been wounded. Oh my God, I hope no one noticed, as I chose to ignore the verbal and non-verbal exchange of hateful rhetoric. Should I have though? Ignoring seemed the safest reaction. I wish it could have been one of those episodes, where suddenly a time lapse or rewind, would have allowed me to separate from my body, as if a witness from above, looking down, just observing, or from across the room – seeing me, and what was happening to me, without announcing it to anyone, just observing. What would I have seen? I think I can replay the moment, like it is just now happening. I really do. Cortisol level, sed rate, vital signs, temperature…what would the data have documented – all in my head? Physical, emotional; such powerful reference points. Placement, caste systems, power struggles – strength and weakness. Who wins? I was on fire, and yet numb. Thinking back, never to forget, I’m trying to re-imagine the setting. Who was there? Who was peripheral to my bully’s exchange? Were there smiles? Laughter? Frowns? Were people awaiting a response from me, before they might feel the need to intervene? Awaiting my lead? I hope not, because I didn’t look around, for fear of the faces and expressions, I might see. Expressions I would never forget. Nowadays, we are taught and educated on how to respond, when seeing, hearing, witnessing the humiliating, intimidating, demeaning, just plain mean-spiriting, power placing displays of cruelty, as a witness, to bully episodes, just what are the steps to take in the exchange, what to do, depending on which person , the by-stander is willing or able to side with – the one bullied, the one witnessing the event. Even then, there would have been innate, selfless, humanity; but even now though, would that have been me? I didn’t look around. Who saw? Who heard? What should I have done? I won’t forgive, I can’t forget, sounds so non-Christian, doesn’t it. But I cannot overlook the problem. Repeated bullying should stop. What about people who aren’t Christian, but still attached to a religious faith, not atheists. Do they forgive mean people who repeatedly bully? It is a lifetime scar! I’ll self-reflect a bit more on this, in a bit. I’ll get back to you on this. I can’t help but think my life could have been lived out differently, had I not experienced this bullying. So, what if I am who and what I am, as a result of everything that has happened to me, all of my life’s experiences. I’d like to know how I might be different, had those experiences not occurred! Ok, enough already. I hear you loud and clear. I might side with you, agree with you, but you know what? The pain, the numbness, the relived experience, lives on inside and around me, around all of those who have been, and are being bullied. Enough already? Yeah, you are right. And you know something else? I’ve heard from many of those who read my last book, and they were hopeful of more carnage. I’ll see what I can come up with for them. Beyond describing in detail, the physiological experiences – as with the story that opens the book, I want to talk about the humiliation. Afraid to look around to see who all was a witness. Those watching, feeling helpless – how can they help, or make it worse? How did they feel? Did people want to intervene? Side with me, or with the bully. Like when someone purposely hurts you, you don’t want to acknowledge it, as you know it would only please them. You don’t want to give them that pleasure. But to ignore, does that have any impact – ignore them, they’ll go away! Not likely. In a room full of kids – who is seeing, hearing, awaiting my response? If I fight, will they cheer me on, join the other side. Are people afraid that they too will be bullied? Guilt by association! In my moments of self-reflection, as I internalized the pain, the fears, the humiliation, I wondered if I was a mistake. Were people like me, mistakes? Were we placed here, on Earth, as a sort of food chain – bullies need someone to bully. Was that my purpose? I know, some would say, God doesn’t make mistakes. Oh, thank God! But that doesn’t explain my possible purpose. I mean, maybe I have been put here as a source of ridicule. Lenise, now there’s a thought to ponder! How many times have I gone through this? Several times, and always without any way remembered, to mitigate it. Didn’t I know it would re-occur? Couldn’t I see it coming? I did purposefully avoid triggers, but sometimes, just being me, was enough, and I never seemed prepared. Does resilience come from being bullied? Or in spite of it. Do we get tougher, as a result, or do we channel our anger and pain, into more positive behaviors? Did my awareness of other people’s mean-spirited jibes enlighten me, and create a more sensitive individual? Is that why I became a nurse? A friend from Chicago, shared the Native American Indian mantra (Sioux Indian Medicine Woman?): We are what we are, because of all that has happened to us; the good and the bad. We have been shaped by experiences. And I would add, of course, that our genes and our environments – both internal and external, have helped develop us, into who we are. Don’t you just love the line from Queen’s, We are the Champions, circa 1977; “…I’ve had my share of sand kicked in my face, but I’ve come through.”